It’s been an eventful week. Or uneventful, if we’re talking about the movement of my placenta. I had a follow-up ultrasound on Monday which showed no movement; it also showed that the baby is currently breech. Plenty of time for both things to change, assured the technician and doctor who looked over the images. My doctor, at the appointment I had later that afternoon, seemed less optimistic. “Why can’t things go smoothly for you?” she said in her typical blunt manner. “You had a thirty-three-hour labor and vacuum delivery for a six-pound baby, and now you have placenta previa.” On the bright side, we don’t have to worry about bedrest unless I have three (well, two more) spotting episodes that get progressively worse. And she said we’ll schedule a C-section when I hit thirty-six weeks (for a delivery at thirty-seven or thirty-eight weeks) but can always cancel it if the placenta moves. All we need, she said, is 1.5 centimeters. That’s it.
Mom and Dad came in for a few days to watch Lucia during my appointments and to see her once more before their school year starts. Lucia was in super-cute mode, playing with her beads, saying new words, asking Mom to sing songs to her, looking at pictures of herself on Dad’s iPad. She enjoyed having both of her grandparents sitting on the floor with her. When she realized that they always brought along a pillow to sit on, she, too, demanded a pillow (a “puh”) whenever she sat on the floor. Gra and Papa were the first words she said every morning, and now, two days after they left, she still asks for them, though she seems to understand when I say they had to go home.
It’s been beautiful weather yesterday and today, so I’ve taken advantage of my more normal-feeling body to take Lucia up to the park. She hardly wants to be in the stroller at all anymore and can walk very nearly the whole way there—she usually wants to get back in the stroller for the final avenue and three or so blocks. Of course, our walk takes forever, as she stops to look at every single stone (or cherry pit, or discarded straw) on the sidewalk, to sit on various stoops and curbs, to point out the letter O on various signs, to look at birds and shout “Fly!” when they fly away. (Frankly, stopping often and walking very slowly makes the long uphill walk much easier for me.) I’ve been taking her the long way through the park to the playground, and it is very peaceful to pause on one of the quiet paths while she draws with chalk or has a snack.
In the back of my mind is always, I better do this before I spend the next three months on bedrest. But I’ve been feeling fine and have no reason to think everything won’t turn out okay.